Best Mannerisms Poems
Superbly agile and acrobatic creatures.
Quirky zigzag moves and mannerisms.
Unique techniques for stealing seeds and nuts.
Incredibly strong front incisors that keep growing.
Really smart, mischievous and very entertaining.
Ready to rob and tackle any bird feeder, even squirrel proof.
Extremely resilient during harsh winters.
Loud chirping and chattering when near by.
Sometimes they are white, but mostly grey, red or brown.
Not friend of man or beast, or kind to any soul,
not even their own.
Perhaps compassion deserted them, along with reason
leaving not even an even-tongue..
in a dangerous clouded head.
Or maybe found under a curse from a long ago wrong.,
cast at birth or last dawn' cropping season, ill thoughts
impure to many.
Maniacal in gaze. Sees.. but doesn't see,
no feeling left..
if ever there was any.
When encountering something perceived to be weaker,
don't respond the way most would.
As I write this, feel so sorry..
for all smaller creatures in wrenching hands..
crushed without a twitch of remorse.
Talk in whispers, don't wake their ire..
you can't outrun or outlast them..
not in words, or mannerisms, no chance.
Don't cross them, or fall hard in love..
they're already jealous., quick to anger,
always seething, like a kettle ready to boil.
One with nothing left to lose.
You are a player in an unfamiliar game..
tilted off balance of normal,
just a prize for them, all the same.
It's easier to be anyone else than the others.
Standing out in a cold dark night looking..
at the warmth that true companionship brings.
Life's best to live, and to give, though sure and not sure,
were it your neck so close to break.
Be the soul of leniency and mercy.,
send prayers, show kindness, and in kindness judge..
if you must.
Though never invest, or feel too sorry..,
nor trust what you hold dear..,
and never turn your back on
the others.
~~~~~~~~ Dedicated to Stephen King ~~~~~~~~
I was an odd little girl. At a very early age writing, and seeking out nature. I
loved to wander libraries and art galleries, while other little girls played with
dolls together. A loner, lost within my thoughts. I grew up to be a bit eccentric
and offbeat. My style of dressing is whimsical and unique to me. I love
seeking out vintage. The key is to not wear too much at one time! My pose
and mannerisms are quiet and gentle, people have commented on how calm
I seem. I found my Zen a long time ago. I do yoga and meditate each day.
Something about me is my need to know what is going on in the world.
I watch the local news, the Canadian news (yes, I am from Canada), varied US
news, and the World news each morning. Only then can my day begin! It is an
oddity I think as so many do not listen or read about the news. I like to read
books but not on a Kindle or on the computer I want, must actually hold a
book, I love the feel of the pages in my hands. I collect old books, well old and
fragile anything. A beautiful vase or plate with a chip perhaps found in second
hand shops. I do not need an expensive antique to satisfy my need for "old".
Well, that's the oddity of me, a whimsical, unique and a bit offbeat girl.
the forest quiet
the sound of soft snow falling-
I stop listening
_____________________
February 7, 2018
Poetry/Haibun/This Quirky Girl
Copyright Protected, ID 18-991-422-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Quirks
sponsor, Madison Demetros
Second Place
each grain of sand, every molecule
has rested on Earth since time began
raindrops now fall and dampen my hair
once part of waves rushing through mom's hands
a universal tie binds us all
without exception, we are matter
comprised of resources long existing
our consciousness? part of this batter
our self-destructive mannerisms
serve but to rearrange elements
ashes to ashes and dust to dust
will come to pass in a greater sense
every particle has its own place
in both our todays and tomorrows
for each bridge built, each new life born
from our world's past has something borrowed
You adore the reflection you see
So beautiful you are, so pure your beauty
I see through the crack in the door
Brushing your hair so devotedly!
I know to them the favourite you are
Your eyes glisten like far away stars
I know that to them their angel is you
You’re so perfectly pretty, anyone would love you
I study the mannerisms of you. Your smile stops hearts beating - it is so beautifully you.
I cry in the night because of you
I lose sleep and am tired because of you
I look at the reflection of me
My eyes, my skin is just not your beauty.
I fool myself saying how pretty I am
But your teeth are so perfect and white you light up a room no matter where you are
I accept that I’ll never be you
The shadow, the one always behind!
The people we meet don’t see me
They look at you and see all they want to see
I love you but hate you as well
I can’t stand when you laugh as their attention is no where else
My sister you will always be
The boys, the men will never see me!
I’m sorry to hear how you are
The lines and the age dimmed the light of the far away star!
They don’t open the door for you anymore
Your complexion lost the glow of who you were once before.
Though pretty you always be, when youth became a memory so did your drop-dead beauty!
Now age is as cruel as cruel can be
The Woolf whistles now call for someone else’s beauty
I’m sorry that you can’t let go of the perfectly pretty you
But you can’t dress like that anymore and be in anyway cool
Let go of the youth that was you
That was innocence’s fool
You are so much more than what you see.
You are much more than what they will ever see.
Let go of the past, you’ll always have memories
Be a women.
Be more than they think you are.
A women is much more than a smile or the eyes of glistening stars
Be a women for what you want to be
Be a women of substance, be a women like me.
You stir your latte slowly
an old habit of yours
a delicate studied frown.
I wonder when your mannerisms
became perfectly packaged
fashion statements?
When did you turn a camera
inwards into your scripted life?
Just when did you begin
to act-out this caricature?
As you turn your spoon,
as you gather together
your carefully prepared replies,
my interest in you
flat-lines.
Question my mannerisms, do you cause me
Kindness, should be shown to no friend
Reciprocation, will their beliefs differ
In vain, will all my acts become
As if trust, can be nurtured by none
Relationships prove worthless
A resident was my heart, of yours
Care, did you show little
Every deceitful word you spoke, your actions I forgave
Though limitations, are there to all
My temperament had I subsided well
Anger, had you extracted by force
Help another, was I prepared
My time to you, did I devote
Though ungrateful, you proved
To wound me through blame, you chose
Fall did I, at gravity's feet
Your eyes unmoved, by my downed sight
Potential, did I try to see in all
To be a good samaritan, I had tried
Though it is with humanity, that humility is eradicated
No matter my attempts to encourage
An ant opposing a boot, will I always be
My disappointment, have you only proved
To be a fool, I strived for you not to be
Your success, did I crave to see
Though chase my own tail, did you force me to
Exerted all my energy in runs, you showed no care
My belongings were not close, you manipulated my belief
A fool of me, did you purposely create
Murder as I watched, would be of no pain
The bullet I would provide, for whoever wished a shot
Though my eyes, saw little through the opacity
Your sharp hands, had your touch guised
In my fellow beings, was my faith strong
Through your blade, was it all lost
In humanity, was my faith a sight to behold
Though anger did you only ask through disappointment
To make a fool of me, your unseen blade chose
They met aboard a cruise one summer day;
their days and nights were filled with ecstasies.
Like 'two peas in a pod' they both gave way
to letting love fulfill their fantasies.
So much they held in common, it was true.
They seemed like mirror images of each;
ideas, and likes, dislikes and points of view
were shared alike in mannerisms, speech.
She knew she was adopted, he was not.
As months went by, he later found he too
was raised by parents not his own; the plot
to solve his heritage would soon ensue.
Their wedding plans began, and all was well.
But, it arrived, that letter in the mail...
Ancestry tests matched DNA to tell
that they were siblings...heartbreak ends this tale...
about their marriage that could never be...
exchanged for finding long-lost family.
July 23, 2018
Former Contest Rules: Topic of 'An incomplete love story', a girl and a boy are in love, both want to marry each other but can't. Give the reason why. It isn't death; they have to live, but they can't live with each other. Make it beautiful and make it sad, and in between, the reason for their separation must also be very clear.
A rhyming thank you written in verse
To the wonderful women and men who work as a nurse
They do so much more than just first aid
Considering their responsibility they should be better paid
They assist in the process of creation
They are even responsible for drug calculation
In crisis situations they aid in evacuation
Nurses need to be treated better across the whole nation
They are faced with the challenge of an ageing population
They work overseas and help the poor
For those incapacitated they come to the door
They are on the front line during times of war
They have a duty of care legislated by law
On a daily basis they are faced with death
They are with a patient for their last breath
They work long hours without adequate pay
They face trauma and grief day by day
They have to work at a rapid pace
Often having to rush from place to place
Due to cutbacks they are often short of staff
In some areas staffing is less than half
Our healthcare system is in a state of demise
C’mon you politicians give nurses a pay rise
They deal with patients who are disorderly or wild
They provide comfort to parents of a child
They encounter various problems with people’s health
They don’t discriminate the poor or those with wealth
They assist in the prevention or destruction of disease
They are expected by some to do this with ease
They are ordinary people doing extraordinary acts
Don’t question them unless you know all of the facts
They deal with issues that cause stress
They treat patients who are in distress
They deal with patients who want to fight
They deal with patients who sometimes bite
They help patients who are deaf or without sight
They work seven days a week both day and night
They assist a patient who has lost their mind
Their mannerisms are generally pleasant and kind
Only recently have they been given reasonable superannuation
The government must do more and increase remuneration
They are highly educated, instructed and trained
When facing trauma their uniforms can get blood stained
They deal with cuts, abrasions and breaks
Constantly they have to avoid making mistakes
Nurses without a doubt do a wonderful job
They are the blood supply that keeps our hearts a throb
I am so proud that I have a sister who is a nurse
To you my sister and your peers I give you this verse
He's found another heart to devour.
Reciting the perfect words, perfecting gentle mannerisms.
Cleverly burrowing his way in.
Feeding off the shadows of weakness.
Eating the beat of the flesh.
Making its way into the center.
Seducing embers deep within its heart cage.
Then licking it into pieces.
He carries no oxygen,
only the soil of past conquests.
He's your latest heartworm,
your sticky rosary of death.
The priest who wants to rest
went fishing with his dear cousin Nora
A very nice lady, ginger and intrepid.
Today she adopted a Turkish Angora
The priest who wants to rest
took a shower early which he enjoyed
The water he truly liked, it was tepid;
and he sang an ode to Sigmund Freud
The priest who wants to rest
has read the Bible sixty nine times more than Tom;
his second favorite book yet not his number one;
The one he likes the most is The Population Bomb.
The priest who wants to rest
played chess with the pigmy who loves giraffes;
Our priest was shocked: the Faroese midget won!
Horrid event! He can't afford such gaffes!
The priest who wants to rest
states indignant that medicine kills millions
and also adds that doctors are dangerous.
Some of his ecclesiastic opinions.
The priest who wants to rest
has composed a most terrific hymn
with both hands (he is ambidextrous);
A valid reason to admire him.
The priest who wants to rest
painted a most fine picture of a city,
and explained to me what is a monsoon;
Explanation and picture were witty.
The priest who wants to rest
got a visit from his sweet sister Odette;
They shared a very fine meal at noon;
His sister cooked a luscious omelette.
The priest who wants to rest
adores his nieces and nephews;
By the way, they are very young;
yet both have deep political views.
The priest who wants to rest
is nowadays studying Tagalog;
He is very glad learning this new tongue.
I notice he is happy and agog.
He will come back. His return will be swell.
In the meantime, you have a poem to digest.
For he is a man of morals and no mannerisms.
He is the priest, the priest who wants to rest.
In the void, sipping the zoid,
with mental properties of tripping on the spiral.
Falling down the tail of lions, awkwardly spinning.
With upside down tunnel vision leaking through.
Solidifying all matter that matters,
melting into the walls of your brain.
It tickles all the raindrops dripping in your eyes,
satisfying your desire of a synchronized pattern.
Bleeding purple from the rainbow,
and turning into swirls of diamonds.
Slipping exuberantly beside you; driving you wild.
Where the shadows stop the spirited scream.
Devour yourself into the omniscient grip.
Icy cold finger tips scratch the surface of your divinity,
bringing you closer to the God who whispered in your unborn ear,
situated in your flesh from birth to death.
It embeds itself in the pupil of your eye,
dancing with your spirit and licking your soul.
Black shapes of madness wrapped in chaos and euphoria.
Twinkling and blinking dust of a cloud.
Haze filled skies and blood filled smoke raining from the clouds.
Envisions of clowns and demons laughing at our demise.
Chilling sensations of sickening mannerisms,
mechanisms and mechanics sought out to destroy the tiny creatures.
These creatures running crazy into acceptance of demise.
Deprived of life, scared of death but giving into it's taste.
Taste buds quiver as the taste grows sweeter.
Death, oh death, tell everyone who you really are...
Too long have you been hidden in the shadows you cast,
too long have we rendered your pain.
The world grows sicker as the hairs in my head grey.
I'll never surrender as demons always circle.
Today, begins a new day of our fight.
And I have a good feeling about this day.
Onward, we have united our minds and gathered ourselves within.
Always ready for we accept our fear.
We accept our hate and everything in between.
Accept it all for what it really is.
No amount of doubts will over throw us.
Onward, to peace.
My husband is a shooter,
Which isn't always fun,
As every weekend
He's out somewhere with his gun.
So quality time together
Can sometimes be quite sparse,
"But I have to have a hobby."
He tells me with a laugh.
Our daughters getting married
To a super guy called Tom,
Has he any faults?
I've discovered just the one.
He also is a shooter,
His hobby is the same,
He can't wait to get out
And with his gun take aim.
So this week we decided
To be a shooters WAG
And go along with them,
Maybe hold their bag.
So Lu and I rose early,
Up at the crack of dawn,
To go and watch them shoot
On this early Sunday morn.
It was then that we discovered,
She's marrying her Dad!
Just a fairer version,
Oh dear could this be bad?
They speak the same language,
Of floppy stuff and rabbits,
They have the same mannerisms,
The very same habits.
They pull out their guns
From gun sleeves in time.
Pick up their bags together
And up the hill they climb.
They put on identical glasses,
Taken from identical tins,
From behind they could be,
The dark and fair haired twins.
They stand and measure clays,
Arms up in the air,
Give each other
The very same stare.
Their heads move in unison
As they watch the others shoot,
They both rest their guns
Upon their right boot.
They congratulate each other
On a job well done,
Share a bit of banter,
Have a lot of fun.
Discuss with other shooters
The angle of the clay,
"What is your score card
Looking like today?"
So my darling daughter
Your weekends could be a bore.
When he gets back home again
He'll sit and analyse the score.
We'll have to get a hobby
That is just for us two,
'Cause Dad and Tom jointly
Will stick together like glue!
While watching "Name That Tune" reruns
I taste the garlic she used to put in the Beef Stew...
Thinking and laughing
about something we had done together...
Bittersweet mem'ries of days gone by...
She was my Mother, and now she's gone,
but she lives on in me.
Her mannerisms...her smile,
her eccentric ways of cleaning...
Her mood swings...laughter..tears...
Her struggle with alcoholism,
and my triumph over it.
I loved her dearly.
In loving memory of
Della Jeannette Ham
9/24/20 to 10/20/94
Your eyes shone like the constellation of Orion,
leading me to believe; you were the one to guide me to the land of Zion.
The liberation of my heart was set alight; that fateful day,
you were stunning just as ‘Bridge Over the Lily Pond’ by Claude Monet.
My appreciation of beauty led me to enquire,
were you the one in all my visions asking for desire?
Running through fields of holly, asking for one simple wish,
to always be there, so love will never miss,
appealing to let go of all our fears to just simply kiss.
But you were more than a conceivable dream,
the most beautiful thing, I could have ever possibly seen,
your mannerisms where all of the highest it seemed.
Wanting to head in the same direction,
I stopped your gallant motion to make the appropriate correction.
I made you aware that I wanted to be good to you,
to hold you, please you, and be true to you.
Like a fairytale in the living colour, you looked at me with your brown eyes
to fully establish more than a fantasy,
turning around to ask me “are you my fateful destiny?”
“Will you support, comfort and be there for me.
With life’s journey; what will you make out of the unbearable?
What is out of my reach; will you make the impossible, possible?”
With those brown eyes, you made the clear announcement,
professing such words of wisdom that were mentally arousing.
The perfect ending never felt this real and more,
the rest of the story fell into place like pieces of domino.
Hidden here with you, upon the azure Mediterranean shores,
I can assure you; your brown eyes are all I will explore,
soothing the soul beneath your spiritual allure.
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